Leslie Kelly - Wicked Christmas Nights - It Happened One Christmas

He just didn’t want to be forced to work there under his father’s watchful eye now . Having spent every summer and school holiday building things for Elite Construction, and knowing he’d end up doing that for much of his life, he just wanted some time to himself. To be free, to go somewhere new, to be totally on his own. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Well, it was according to his father.

“Ross?”

Realizing he’d fallen into a morose silence, he shook his head, hard. “Hold on a sec,” he told her, going to the back of his covered truck to retrieve the robotic dinosaur and the bags of presents he’d been supposed to mail today. He’d told Lucy about them on the way home, and she’d promised to help him package them up tonight, then find a UPS store tomorrow.

Once inside, he flipped on the lights, and zoned-in on the thermostat. No, this wasn’t a Chicago winter, but it was still pretty damn cold. Plus the house was old and drafty.

He jacked up the heat, then turned back to Lucy, who looked a lot less shell-shocked than she had when they’d left the city. He didn’t try to hide his relief, glad for that strong, resilient streak he’d sensed in her from the moment they’d met.

Right now, she acted as though she didn’t have a care in the world. In fact, she was wandering around, comfortable enough to be nosy and check out the house. “Oh, my God, is that really a lava lamp?”

“Like the grill, also left by a former tenant. As was the couch and the ugly kitchen table.”

Lucky for him. After laying out cash for a security deposit, plus first and last month’s rent, he hadn’t had much money for furnishings.

Kinda funny, really, how he was living now. He’d been raised in a house with ten bedrooms on twenty acres. His sisters had each had a horse in the stable, and he’d had his choice of car when he’d turned sixteen. He hadn’t necessarily been born with a solid silver spoon in his mouth, but it would have to be called silver-plated.

And now he lived in a drafty, tiny old house with hand-me-down furniture and an old analog TV that got only one station, and that only if there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He drove a five-year-old truck whose payments were still enough to make him wince once a month. Ate boxed mac-and-cheese and Ramen noodles, the way a lot of the scholarship kids in college had.

Most shocking of all? He liked it.

You do this and you’re on your own, totally cut off! Don’t expect a penny from me!

His father’s angry voice echoed in his head. But so did an answering whisper: But I did it anyway, didn’t I? And I’m doing just fine .

“What about the bean bag chair?” Lucy asked, interrupting his thoughts of the angry scene last summer, right after graduation, when he’d decided not to move back home.

He admitted, “What can I say? I bought that one. It seemed to go with the decor.”

“Lemme guess…thrift store shopping spree?”

“Bingo.” Shrugging, he added, “I was on a budget.”

“I think my groovy, peace-sign Santa would fit in very well here.”

“Don’t even think about pawning that thing off on me. Even if it weren’t broken, I wouldn’t let that drugged-out St. Nick and those zombie-kids anywhere near my Christmas tree. It might lose all its needles in pure fear.”

She finally noticed the small tree, standing in the front corner near the window. Her smile faded a little, as if she’d suddenly remembered it was Christmas Eve, albeit very early on Christmas Eve—only about 1:00 a.m.

It was a sad-looking thing. He’d bought it on impulse—it had been the last one on a lot up the block, scrawny and short, with half its needles already gone. It had reminded him of Charlie Brown’s tree…in need of a home. So he’d shelled out the ten bucks and brought it here, sticking it in a bucket since he didn’t have a tree stand.

Nor had he had any real ornaments to put on it. Right now, an empty aluminum pot-pie tin served as a star on the top, and a bunch of picture hangers and odds-and-ends hung from the few branches.

As she stared at the pathetic thing, Lucy’s sadness appeared to fade. She shook her head, a slow, reluctant smile widening her pretty mouth. “Are those beer can tabs?”

“Just a few,” he admitted. “I was experimenting. I’m not a big drinker, so I only had a few cans in the fridge. I finally raided my toolbox.”

Putting a hand on her hip and tilting her head, she said, “And you had the nerve to criticize my Christmas decorations?”

“Hey, mine’s pathetic, not terrifying.”

“My snow globe from last year wasn’t terrifying.”

“Oh, no? Let me guess. A tiny female elf wearing pasties and a G-string?”

Her eyes rounded. “Ooh, that sounds fabulous! But, no, it was just a North Pole scene.”

He crossed his arms, waiting.

“With a clown that popped out of Santa’s chimney like a Jack-in-the-Box.”

Shuddering, he said, “Clowns are terrifying. What’s wrong with Jack?”

“Why would a Jack-in-the-Box be in Santa’s chimney?”

“Why would a clown?”

“Well, that’s the point,” she said, laughing at the ridiculous conversation. “None of it makes any sense!”

“Which makes it perfect to you and your brother. Merry Christmas to the Scrooge siblings.”

“Exactly!”

Liking that her good mood was back, he asked, “Hey, are you hungry? I’ve got frozen pizza, frozen bagels, frozen burgers… .”

“Typical single guy menu, huh?”

“Yep. Oh, if you want some wine, I think I have a box in the back of the fridge.”

She snickered.

“It was a housewarming gift from a neighbor.”

One pretty brow went up. “Oh? Not a basket of muffins?”

“Let’s just say my neighbor’s of the cat persuasion.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“The cougar variety.” Frankly whenever his neighbor came over, he felt like putting on another layer of clothes.

“Never mind,” he said, waving his hand. “So, why don’t you help yourself while I go get cleaned up.”

“You look clean to me.”

“Under these clothes is a layer of sawdust—I’m itchy all over. I need to take a shower.”

“Help yourself,” she said, waving a hand as she headed to the kitchen, already making herself at home. “Want me to make you something?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Filet mignon it is.”

He snorted. “Hungry Man Salisbury steak frozen dinner, if you’re lucky.”

Still smiling, glad her good mood had returned and thoughts of her vicious ex—who still had a lot of bad stuff coming to him—were gone, he headed for his room. The bed was unmade, clothes draped across it, the dresser drawers open. It looked like a single guy’s room. Considering he intended to offer Lucy the bed, and take the couch for himself, he took a few minutes to straighten up.

As he did so, he couldn’t help thinking about how much different his life seemed now than when he’d left this morning. He’d figured he’d be coming home to a quiet house, a solitary holiday, maybe a turkey sub from Subway. And he’d been okay with that. Not happy, but okay.

But he had to admit, in recent days, as the holiday season zoomed in like a rocket ship, he had really begun to think about his family back in Chicago. He had a few friends here, but not the type you’d share Christmas with. Being from a big family—which got bigger with every sister’s marriage and the births of new nieces and nephews—he began to realize there were times living alone wasn’t so great. As December marched on, he’d resigned himself to a lonely, kinda pathetic holiday weekend.

Wow, did things ever change on a dime.

Still thinking about those changes, he headed into the bathroom—spent another few minutes cleaning it—then got in the shower. He hadn’t been kidding about that sawdust; the stuff had filtered into his clothes as he’d maneuvered the custom-made bookcase into place at Beans & Books.